


Pyrrhic Victory

by yarnsky4



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Character Death, F/F, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, One Shot, One-Sided Relationship, Past Dorothea Arnault/Edelgard von Hresvelg, Past Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary, Petra and Caspar join the Golden Deer, Relationships could be seen romantically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25679218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yarnsky4/pseuds/yarnsky4
Summary: Petra was happy to have joined the Golden Deer. She’s made new friends, and worked tirelessly to gain independence for Brigid in the invasion of Enbarr. Petra was ready to leave the imperial palace behind and celebrate new beginnings. After all this, she wasn’t happy or ready to see the lifeless body of her old friend on the cold, hard tiles of the palace.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez & Petra Macneary, Dorothea Arnault & Petra Macneary, Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary, Petra Macneary & Claude von Riegan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Pyrrhic Victory

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for describing a dead body and burying it. 
> 
> A character study of Petra as the war ends.

It was over. With the toppling of the emperor, the fighting could finally cease. Petra stared at the empty throne, along with her friends, past classmates in the Golden Deer. Killing Edelgard was hard, but Petra knows that a leader must be prepared for death.

Breathing out a sigh of release, Petra dismounted off her wyvern, and rested her head against its own scaly one, thanking it for fighting alongside her with bravery. 

“We did it!” Caspar’s enthusiastic yell reached the high ceiling, starting off a round of cheers among their army generals. He was the only other one that transitioned into the Golden Deer class with him. Yet, he was still much of a foreigner to him in her school days. Everyone seemed to know each other. It was painfully obvious that she was an outsider. 

Of course, she was not the only one. 

Claude walked up to her and reached his hand out with a smile. Petra clasped and shook it firmly. 

“Thank you for fighting with us, Petra.” 

“Of course. You have made me feel like I can have family in Fodlan,” Petra spoke warmly, thinking of how well she got to know others in her old class. She has learned much about the bonds between new families compared to her blood binding her back in her home, Brigid. 

Claude nodded, his eyes glancing over to the rest of their team for a split second. “Speaking of Fodlan, we’d better announce the victory of our army at the front of the palace and prepare to return to Garreg Mach for more planning.”

“Indeed,” Petra said, hoping the use of the word wasn’t too formal. They walked past the large gatherings of troops, milling about with prisoners or tending to their wounds. 

She eyed Claude to the side. “I am knowing that you are not from Fodlan.” 

He stopped walking and went rigid. The busy crowd of soldiers around them did not stop, leaving them alone in a circle of movement. 

“Do not deny it. I was thinking you were a strange noble of Fodlan, yet now I can see that you are not home here.” 

“Heh, you’re right. I suppose I shouldn’t have expected to get past your sharp eye.” Claude swallowed and gave a small smile. 

“Your secret is safe with me, but you should be telling your friends,” Petra placed a hand on his shoulder. “Trust is two-ways, not one.” 

He let out a weak laugh. “I know, I know. Thank you, again, Petra. I hope that the future of Brigid stands alongside the future of Fodlan.” 

Petra puts her hand to her heart. “Yes. You can be… You can rely on me.” 

They continued walking forward, marvelling at the architecture of the palace. Looking up towards the ceiling was easier than looking at the dead bodies being collected off the floor. It was as tall as the trees of Brigid forests, yet likely harder to climb up too. 

“Reminds me of the time you tried to climb a tree,” Petra laughed, but abruptly stopped.

“Oh, don’t let anyone hear about that!” Claude jokingly punched her in the shoulder, but Petra was frozen in place. “Petra?” 

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Claude’s blurry shape, but her eyes were dead set on the body in front of her, lying at the entrance of the palace. A woman with deathly pale skin that starkly contrasted against her flowing red dress, draped across the cold, hard, tiles of the palace floor. 

Faintly, Petra heard someone calling to Claude and him apologizing to her before running off to another direction, and she was all alone. Petra took in a shuddering breath, and before she knew it, she was across the room, sliding to her knees. Looking down, lifeless green eyes stared back up at her sadly. 

“D-Doro…” Petra choked back a sob. It had been so long since she had laid eyes on her, yet it only took moments for her to tear up. Even five years later, in death, Dorothea looked ethereally beautiful, more so than in her academy days. Petra had seen many deaths, but Dorothea never seemed like someone who would fall. She was so full of life. 

Yet here she was, dead, in the imperial palace. Too stubborn to leave Edelgard. Petra knew the looks Dorothea gave the future emperor, and couldn’t fault her. Petra always looked on both of them with admiration, but they always thought she was a little girl, too naive and homesick. Maybe, if things were different, Petra could’ve proved herself, but it was too late.

Dorothea’s hands were now singed, blackened from magic used to kill others. Petra would never get to feel those delicate hands softly braiding her hair, stroking her shoulders, or grabbing her own hands, calloused from use of an axe. 

If only they never had to fulfill such destructive purposes. Petra thought she had been ready, after hunting in Brigid her whole life. She knew how to survive, how to always get the upper hand on her opponent. But nothing could have prepared her for the aftermath, knowing you had ended someone’s life for no good reason with your own hands. 

Still, Dorothea was one of hundred’s in the palace. Petra finally raised her head, and looked around at the other soldiers of both yellow and red. Survivors of their army were going around, collecting corpses, likely to be disposed of in a mass grave. Dorothea was just like them… but Petra could do at least one thing for her. 

With a quick heft of her arms, she took Dorothea’s body up and exited the palace. The sun had traveled far across the sky in the time they were in the palace. It felt like an entirely different city in the light of the sunset. Still, Petra knew of one place to go that felt fitting for Dorothea’s grave.

Petra took a deep breath, tears falling onto the fabric of Dorothea’s dress. She was shockingly easy to carry, but each step felt like an eternity. 

“Petra!” 

She jerked her head to the side, to see Caspar running to catch up with her. He was smiling, contrasting against the bloodstains on his face. Petra must’ve had just as many. 

His face fell as he saw who she was carrying. 

“Cas...Caspar,” Petra struggled to get his name out. No words seemed to feel right in her mouth. If only she could mourn in her original tongue, with the right words and proper grammar that such an event deserved. 

“I didn’t know Dorothea was killed…” Caspar scrunched his eyes up in frustration. “It’s not fair!” 

Petra could only nod in agreement. 

Caspar looked back up. “Where are you taking her… her body?” His voice was a ghost of a whisper, so different from what she’d grown to expect from him. 

Swallowing back tears, Petra said, “Dorothea talked about singing in Enbarr, at an opera. She can be buried near it.” 

“I’ll get a shovel and meet you there.”

Petra’s eyes blurred with tears. “Thank you.” 

Later, after doing a lot of asking about famous opera houses, Petra found a suitable patch near the back of the Mittelfrank opera. It seemed so grand, perfect for the songstress Petra knew from the academy. The patch of dirt Petra found was in a field at the back of the opera house past dark alleyways.

She finally set down the body, arms suddenly aching. She must not have realized over the pain constricting her chest. It seemed so strange to her, how emotional pain hurts as if it is physical. Grief is not a foreign feeling to her, but it's always hit just as hard. 

Soon after, Caspar arrived, holding a shovel as he had promised.

“Does anyone know we’re here?” He asked. 

“No. Just us.” Petra knew he was thinking it too. They were the last of the Black Eagles class of 1180. The others were lying in graves just like the one they would create. 

Caspar set to digging in the patch of dirt, and Petra sat and stared at the sky. Evening set upon them, and soon, stars started to appear in the light sky. Eventually, Caspar’s panting became loud enough and Petra got up to take the shovel from him, continuing his work. It was easy to get lost in the physical effort, focusing singularly on her task. 

“It wasn’t any harder with Lin. Er, Linhardt,” Caspar’s voice cut in between her grunts, unusually grim. “At least we have a body to bury this time.” 

Petra dropped the shovel, which landed squarely on her feet. She winced, going to pick it up again. 

“Oh Petra! Are you okay?” Caspar yelled, a bit too loud. 

“Fine.” 

“I’m, uh, sorry.” 

“No. I am sorry,” Petra took a deep breath and looked away from the growing hole and at Caspar. “You might have had more closeness with Linhardt, but I was sad too. We can not hide our feelings now. Trust… is two-ways.” 

Caspar nodded. “Yeah, I agree! So why don’t you give me another turn on that shovel?”

Petra smiled sadly and gave it to him.

After more laboured digging, Caspar declared the hole as empty. Together, they lowered the body down, and Petra worked to fill it back in. It was hard to look down at the body while dumping dirt down onto it, but she knew that the duty was hers. 

Soon, the sun had set and given way to darkness, and the grave was filled. To finish it, Caspar rolled a large stone over to mark the head of the grave, and Petra plucked a rose from a bush in the field to lay over the stone. 

The two of them looked over their work, silent. Caspar looked as if he wanted to say something, looking at Petra all timid like Bern-... like prey, so she nodded. 

“Dorothea was a good friend at the academy. She definitely confused me a lot, but she was good. Five whole years can change a lot, but I know for damn sure she doesn’t deserve to be laying in a grave. Still, I hope she was happy.” He was silent for a moment, until adding, “Goodbye, big sis.” 

Petra didn’t understand, but let him have his moment. In Brigid, the dead were celebrated for who they were in life, while Fodlan funerals seemed so drab and dull. However, this didn’t even feel like a funeral. It was something much deeper and private, not meant to be seen by anyone else. 

Petra’s stance wavered, and she brought her hand to her face to wipe away tears from her eyes.  
“I wish I could have been there for you, Dorothea. I wanted to be there for you. You showed great kindness to me that I had never seen before. You didn’t even know me. I am hoping for you to be happier, now that you have passed on from this world. I will be passing on the kindness you have showed me onto many others. Thank you. I-...I love you.” 

Whether or not Caspar had heard Petra’s words, he gave no indication. She stepped away. Loud noises sounded off in the distance, startling her. Petra and Caspar looked up to see explosions being set off in the sky. Fireworks, a celebration for the Alliance and the future of Fodlan. 

Petra knew that all of them would be stronger after this. Any further challenges they faced wouldn’t stop them. It was up to them to carve a future where war was a thing of the past. It was over.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my first work on AO3! I love Dorothea and Petra with all of my heart and wow did I make myself sad. Any and all comments are appreciated!


End file.
